


Fights + Feelings + Trauma  = Heartbreak

by Anonymous



Series: Mac + Desi + Zayn [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual!Desi, Hurt No Comfort, Is it really self-indulgent if i made myself sad writing it, Multi, Original Character(s), Pansexual!Mac, This is all fighting and trauma and Desi and Mac's breakup, big big angst, nonbinary OC, self-indulgence, that comes later, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mac's falling apart, but he doesn't really care enough to stop it. Desi takes no shit, but she's never been very good in an emotional crisis. The rest of the former Phoenix team is nowhere in sight.Maybe this was all doomed from the start.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Desiree "Desi" Nguyen, Desiree "Desi" Nguyen/Original Character(s)
Series: Mac + Desi + Zayn [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1374475
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous





	Fights + Feelings + Trauma  = Heartbreak

Mac hadn’t come anywhere close to sorting things out with his dad. He was still incredibly angry, he hadn’t wanted to see the man.

But he hadn’t wanted him to die, either.

It’d been Matty who called him a few days ago, to break the news. Matty who’d been taking care of Mac’s dad in the last stretches of his life. Not Mac. 

And after everything - _everything_ \- that man had ever put him through, all the damage caused, Mac still felt guilty.

But that was just the first blow. The second was the government ultimately deciding to shut down the Phoenix Foundation and blacklisting all of them for good. Zayn already had a new job; they’d been looking the second Phoenix stopped paying them. But the rest of them? Who the fuck knew what they were going to do.

Desi was pissed. Desi had every right to be pissed, upending her whole life to redeem a favor to Jack and winding up paying far more than she anticipated. She’d been snapping at him over little things, lately, and a lot of times he found himself snapping back. Fighting over stupid shit like the AC and his body spray. Every minute they were together was tense.

So there were less minutes together. 

Mac found himself spending more and more time alone at his place. Desi stopped sleeping over. It took awhile, but she got a job as a bouncer and it took up her nights, she said. 

It sounded kind of like bullshit to Mac but not enough to start another fight over it.

It was just about 2pm, now, and he’d managed to eat a plate of pizza bagels - an accomplishment, honestly - and was washing it down with a can of beer. 

Bozer was supposed to have been there an hour ago, but Mac couldn’t really fault him for being late. The only person who’d manage to keep a government job was Leanna, thanks to an interdepartmental assignment that apparently couldn’t be cancelled or replaced, and she was about to go under deep cover for God knew how long. Their days were numbered, and their breakup guaranteed, so they were spending as much time as possible together. 

Mac couldn’t imagine losing Desi to something like that. As much as she annoyed the shit out of him, he really did love her. 

He wondered if Desi would feel the same way about him. He knew he wasn’t really her priority, per se. Zayn had caught something and she’d more or less disappeared for a week, not bothering to answer any of his calls. It’d been Zayn who messaged him, finally, asking him to please buy some soup they were out of, and that’s how he found out they’d had the flu. 

He wished he’d known. He would’ve helped. 

There was a knock on the door, which meant it wasn’t Bozer. Bozer never knocked. No one ever knocked, actually, except Zayn, who would then walk into the house, carefully slip off their shoes, and come to find him wherever he was. They knew the door was unlocked; it was just their little formality.

When they saw him, they wrinkled their nose, and he at least had it in him to feel a little ashamed. He knew he looked a sorry state.

“At least you’re wearing pants,” they sighed. As far as Mac knew, they’d never seen him without, so he wasn’t sure what they were referring to. 

They had two large reusable bags, one tucked over each arm, and they shuffled to the kitchen table and put them down before walking over to the windows and opening the curtains. 

“Rise and shine, Picasso,” they said dryly, and it reminded him of the way Desi talked to him on good days, and it hurt.

He squinted against the intrusion of the light, but it was probably for the best. 

“When was the last time you saw anyone besides me?” they demanded. “Riley? Bozer? Hell, even Desi, your girlfriend?”

They acted like they’d ever seen any of his friends, either. “Hello, Zayn, it’s wonderful to see you,” he replied dryly, standing from the couch to go investigate their bags. It seemed rude not to. 

They saw his beer can in his hand and frowned, but it was already empty so they tossed it in the recycling bin without needing to dump it. He was mildly surprised to remember he had a recycling bin, honestly. “It’s 2pm, you don’t need that shit.”

He shrugged noncommittally and peered into the bags. One was full of red-lidded tupperware, stacked high and shoved in tight as they’d go; the other had potatoes, asparagus, apples, oranges. 

“I figure the last time you ate a fruit was the last time you saw anyone,” they explained, patting him on the shoulder. He hadn’t answered their question but it seemed they knew the answer, anyhow. “Wouldn’t want you to get scurvy.”

His fridge was embarrassingly bare, but he supposed they already expected that when they opened it, stacking tupperware and produce inside. He saw a few things he recognized - the stuffed grape vine leaves that Zayn loved to make, a container of pasta and chicken, a shepherd’s pie - and he wondered how long they’d spent cooking for him. 

The last time he’d eaten anything homemade was...a while ago. Mac wasn’t a good cook on the best of days, and these were certainly not the best of days. 

Zayn shoved a previously concealed bucket of ice cream in the freezer. It was honestly giant. “There you go. All stocked up. Depression food for days.” They patted the fridge. “Can I throw out your beer? You’re a big boy, but I want to throw out your beer, it’s nasty. Desi would tell you it’s not even a good brand.”

That got a small smile out of him. “That was the last one, actually,” he replied. 

“Well, at least I know you won’t be getting plastered, since you haven’t left your house for anything in the past” - they gestured at the fridge - “by my count, three days, but it can’t have gotten that empty in just three days.” 

He caught their hand and turned it to inspect an angry red line on their ring finger. “What happened?”

“Knife slipped while I was cooking.” They shrugged, like it was no big deal, but that meant they’d hurt themself trying to take care of him. “I’ve had worse,” they added, gesturing to the scars on their back.

Of course they’d had worse, but nothing that had been his fault. _God_ , he was a worthless piece of shit. “I don’t deserve you.”

Zayn shrugged again. “Maybe not, but you have me.” They picked their way over to his living room and bent down. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked, eyeing their back in confusion. 

They held up a crushed beer can. “Cleaning, you fucking disaster,” they replied without lifting their head. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t have to,” they replied with the slightest tremor in their voice - frustration or sadness or what, he couldn’t tell. “But I’m doing it.”

A pile of trash accumulated on his coffee table. After the second beer can, he went over to help them, feeling awkward and out of place in his own home. It was like they were the one who lived here, who knew how to keep shit running. Mac sure as hell didn’t.

“Why are you here?” he asked finally, hoping he didn’t sound ungrateful. He was just...confused. Surely they had other places to be. It was a Wednesday, and they had a job.

They sighed heavily and flopped down on the couch suddenly, eyes towards the ceiling. “Because,” they began, sounding bone tired, “the two most important people in my life are tearing themselves and each other apart, and this is really the only thing I can do about it.”

He sat down beside them, not close enough to touch but wishing he was. They sat there in silence for awhile, Mac staring at the pile of trash on his table, Zayn staring at the ceiling.

“My dad died,” he said finally, because he figured they ought to have some sort of explanation. 

They snorted. “I know. We all know, actually, in spite of the fact you didn’t tell any of us.” They sighed. “Look, you know how I felt about him. But I’m sorry, because I care about you, and I know it’s messing you up.”

He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “It’s just - there’s so much,” he tried to explain. “So many things that never got resolved. I - he - Mason-”

Zayn placed their hand gently on top of his mouth, quieting him. Their palm was warm against his lips. “I know I have a face that says ‘Tell me everything,’ and that I’m a really good listener,” they began with a hint of irony, though he would agree on both counts. “But this? This is not something I can help you with. This is why you need a therapist.” They fished a card out of their pocket and passed it towards him. 

He took it. He still wasn’t sold on the idea, but it seemed rude to refuse after they’d just cleaned his house and brought him two weeks’ worth of meals. 

“Every morning, I take two tiny pills. They’re teal and orange, which is an ungodly color combination, but they’re tiny miracles.” They sighed. “Mac, I’ve been where you are. I swear to you, there’s something on the other side of it.”

With that, they stood and pressed their hand on top of his head. “I need to go back to work. I’ve definitely used up my whole lunch break and then some, probably. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, even though he knew he wouldn’t, and he didn’t walk them to the door, just watched them leave. 

\---

Mac was officially ready to dive off the nearest cliff. 

Zayn was looking at him with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall, whereas Desi looked about ready to haul off and hit him. He would’ve accepted it if she did. He deserved it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to -”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant to do!” Desi screamed back. “You do not touch them, _ever_. You hear me, MacGyver? You want to start a fight, start it with me.”

That hadn’t been remotely it. He hadn’t meant to shove Zayn away, shove them into their kitchen table at just the right angle to agitate their already fucked up back, make them slip on the hardwood floor of the kitchen in their sock feet. It was just the memories, and the panic - and he’d lost it, for one second, forgotten where he was and who he was with and when Zayn got too close to try to comfort him, he lashed out. 

“Des - Des, baby, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Zayn promised, holding onto her wrist, but they looked at him full of pain and fear and he _deserved_ it. How could they say it was fine?

“It’s not _fine_ ,” Desi insisted, and Mac saw a fire in her eyes that wasn’t just about him, it was about almost losing Zayn before, and he thought - he thought he knew how to fix this. 

He struggled to put the words together, to explain to her that she wasn’t just mad at him, that it had triggered her own trauma, that she was mad at a bunch of guys who were either in prison or dead, and he figured it out, somehow, but the words came out all wrong and Desi’s eyes just narrowed. 

“You _fucking_ hypocrite!” She stood protectively in front of Zayn, shielding them completely with her body, like he was a threat. He supposed to her he was, at the moment.

He spluttered out something halfway between angry and hurt but it wasn’t coherent, and she wasn’t listening, anyway.

“You want to talk about trauma? Look in the _fucking_ mirror, MacGyver. Where do we start? Your _fucking_ hero complex? Your moral superiority? Whatever the _fuck_ it was going on with your dad that you had months to resolve and never did?” Every time Desi said ‘fuck,’ she got progressively louder, and it fell like a blow. 

“You don’t _understand_ ,” he shot back, frustrated, because she couldn’t, because it wasn’t all on her the way it was him - he shouldn’t even be alive right now, and if he wasn’t, so many other people would be. 

“You’re right, I don’t,” she snarled. “We’ve been together for months and I don’t understand any of the stupid shit in your brain. You may be a genius, Mac, but you’re wrong about a lot of things. And no matter how many times you try to explain it to me, I won’t understand.”

“Well, that’s for sure,” he muttered.

And all at once, the air stilled, and everything felt dangerously calm. “Get out,” Desi demanded. 

“What?”

“We’re over. Get the fuck out of my house, Angus MacGyver. I never want to see your face again,” she spat. “You want to take responsibility for the whole world? Fine. My whole life is shit because Jack asked me to look out for you, and you just hurt the only good thing I’ve got. So get out.”

It took him a minute to process that this was real, that this was happening. And then, with whatever little remained of his composure, he walked to the front door and he left.

When he’d go on missions, he’d picture every possible scenario, every death and every failure, but they’d never happened. It seemed in the past few months that’d finally caught up with him, that all he could do was lose and fail. 

“Mac.” 

He turned around towards the apartment door, already down a couple stairs. Zayn was standing there, trembling slightly, though he didn’t know if it was from fear or just the fact that they had nerve damage. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, because it was true, because they had never done anything wrong, because it had never been them he was mad at. 

“I’ll forgive you” - they tilted their chin - “if you go to therapy. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you, Mac. You’re a big boy. But if you go, call me after your first appointment. I’ll forgive you.”

Maybe this was rock bottom, and this was what he needed to see that they were right. But they were, and he knew it, and it was time. He still had the card they gave him, too; may as well dial the number. 

They gave him a sad wave goodbye and pulled their sweater tighter around them, then disappeared back through the door, probably to go calm Desi down, or perhaps to cry while Desi held them. He stood staring at the wreath hanging there, green and floral against the blue door - definitely Zayn’s choice, not Desi’s - and finally, when he felt ready, he turned and he left.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know S4 was like "Mac's dad is still alive!" but forget that, my canon now, dude had terminal cancer and unresolved conflict with Mac and it'd be so heartbreaking (and contribute to Mac's spiraling) if he died and Mac never felt anything got resolved. Also it's been months, timeline checks out.  
> This was sad. It made me sad. I really wanted it to be messy and show everyone was wrong, really, but that it was about hurt and unresolved trauma. S4 says Mac and Desi break up? Okay, conceivable, but if you tell me it's for any reason other than They Both Need Help, I'm not going to believe it.  
> There will be more, I promise. There will be comfort after this hurt. For now, I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
